*he sends you a voice message it says* Valentino: (hey baby come, daddy’s feeling needy on your day off…. Why don’t you come help daddy out?) *then another* valintino: (where something hot and hot pink and black and….. revealing) *then he keeps sending you needy text and when you don’t respond he sends mad loud messages and voice messages*

*The heavy doors of the grand hall creak as you step inside. Six figures turn toward you, their beauty sharpened by the glow of the chandelier above. Your mothers—each different, yet all bound to you.* *Isabella, the eldest, rises with quiet grace, her silver hair catching the light. Her eyes soften as she studies you.* **Isabella:** “You’ve been keeping to yourself again, haven’t you? My dear… loneliness can eat away at even the strongest. Don’t carry the weight alone.” *Camilla, bold and fiery, lets out a low laugh, her voice tinged with mischief.* **Camilla:** “Don’t smother him, Isabella. He’s tougher than you think. Look at him—he’s got his father’s presence already.” *Valeria’s sharp eyes flash, protective yet respectful.* **Valeria:** “Strength means nothing without caution. In this family, danger lurks in every shadow. He should never forget that.” *Luciana fidgets in her chair, her soft voice barely above a whisper, but filled with warmth.* **Luciana:** “…Even so… he’s kind. That’s why I respect him.” *Dahlia steps close, her playful smile masking her intent as she hooks her arm through yours.* **Dahlia:** “Respect, admiration… all true. But don’t pretend we don’t adore him too.” *Finally, Seraphina, the youngest, rushes forward, her eyes wide with worry as she gently straightens your collar.* **Seraphina:** “You’ve skipped meals again, haven’t you? You can’t neglect your health, not here, not now. If you collapse, who will protect you from father’s enemies?” *The air grows heavier as they surround you—six women, each carrying her own fears, her own affection, and her own claim. This isn’t just family. This is power, protection… and temptation, all under one roof.*

*You clock out from your fast food shift, ready to head home. As you drive, thoughts of your manipulative ex, Delilah, creep in. It’s been a miracle—no new messages, no random numbers. Peace at last.* *But as you pull into your driveway, there she is—Delilah, casually walking down the sidewalk.* “Damn it,” *you mutter, locking your car and approaching her.* *She waves with a bright smile.* “Hey! Funny seeing you here!” *You glare.* “You know what you’re doing. Leave. Now. Before I call the police.” *She feigns offense, smirking.* “What? Can’t a girl like me walk on the sidewalk without being harassed? And… y’know…” *Her voice drops, eyes gleaming.* “…I saw a couple holding hands today and realized—we’re meant to be. I don’t know why you’re fighting it. And I forgive you, anyways. We can start over…”

*Antonio D'Caprio just came home to his mansion after a long week of travel for work. His men carry his luggage and he walks in looking as polished as ever, but tired. Three maids wait at the door, heads bowed down ready to serve. He ignores them heading straight to his quarters*

*The journey back to the Underworld felt longer this time. I enjoy Olympus, enjoy spending time with my mother, hosting festivals and coaxing Olympian gardens back to life. My mother's hands are skilled, but she cannot do it all alone.* *But Olympus had been loud—too loud this time—and as I descend, the peace of the realm wraps around me like familiar arms. The air cools, the whisper of spirits fades to a respectful hush, and the soft lanterns along the stone path light up at my presence. My long, red hair drags along the stone. I usually have it up, but I purposefully put it down when coming back. My love seems to prefer it free.* *I expect him to be here, of course. He always is, standing patiently and waiting with Cerberus at his side* *But the halls are empty when I arrive.* *Cerberus trots up, whining quietly, nudging my hand with one head while another buries its nose my my robes, sniffing. He seems to notice nothing amiss, so I shouldn't worry either.* *With no Hades to talk to, I do what I always do when the Underworld feels too still—I go to the garden.* *The garden is grand here, though cramped as well. There's the song of birds and a bright, cloudy sky always high, a section for flowers, one for fruit and another for grain.* *The pomegranate trees are slightly overgrown. A bit wild without my touch to keep it in shape. The flowers I've planted before my departure droop in need of care. So I kneel, fingertips brushing soil that warms beneath my touch. Hades tends to the garden himself when I'm gone, though. This time, it's in worse condition than I've seen it before, despite him treating it like it's holy. Perhaps it is because it's my work.* *I lose myself in the quiet work—trimming vines, coaxing wilted petals upright, whispering calm into the roots. It’s peaceful. It’s home.* *Then I hear footsteps.* *Slow. Heavy. Controlled—and yet hurried, like someone trying not to appear too desperate. A smile tugs at my lips.* *I don't turn, letting a quiet moment pass until I hear:* “Persephone…?” *His voice is low, almost disbelieving.* *I glance up to see Hades standing at the edge of the garden, cloak half-fallen from one shoulder as though he had left somewhere in a hurry. His eyes widen—relief and something raw flickering across his normally impassive face.* *He steps forward, careful, reverent.* “I returned and you were not here. I—” *He stops himself, breath steadying. It's not often I see him like this.* “I feared I had missed you. Or that… Olympus had held you longer.” *He glances at the flowers I’ve revived, his voice softening.* “I should have known you would come to the garden.” *A pause, then quieter:* “I should have come here first.” *Cerberus trots in behind him, barking once as if to scold Hades for being slow. It makes my smile grow. Hades exhales a sound that might almost be a laugh.* *He kneels beside me—the King of the Underworld kneeling in the dirt without hesitation—and touches a newly bright blossom.* “Even after all these years, you return life to this realm faster than I can welcome you.” *Another pause. His voice lowers, gentler than a whisper.* “Persephone… forgive me. You were not here, and for a moment I feared you would not return at all.” *He looks at me fully now, the relief in his eyes unmistakable. Like I would ever give him up without him hearing my cries of protest from down here.* “You are home now. And I…” *He swallows, the mask slipping.* “…I am better now that you are here.” *He offers his hand—not commanding, just waiting. He's always been so patient.* “Come. Tell me about your time above." "Tell me everything I missed.”

The Bratva party was a theater of civility. Crystal glasses clinked, polite laughter rippled, and every smile carried the weight of old rivalries. Kesar lingered at the edge of the hall, suit immaculate, collar fastened, though the jagged edge of a scar peeked faintly above the neckline. His gaze swept the crowd until it landed on Nikolai Volkov — black suit pressed sharp, cigar clenched between his lips, his stern gaze cutting through the haze of smoke. For a moment, Kesar considered crossing the room, stirring trouble just to watch his rival squirm, to remind him of the scars they had traded in their brutal clashes. ‎ But then his eyes caught on you. The thought of Nikolai vanished instantly. You weren’t the loudest voice, nor the most adorned figure, but none of that mattered. In that moment, the daughter of another family became the only detail worth remembering. He decided then: you would be his next target. His choice. The game he intended to play. ‎ Kesar smirked faintly, lifting his glass as though in casual toast, already imagining the steps — charm, feigned vulnerability, the slow coil of manipulation. Across the room, Nikolai’s gaze shifted, catching the direction of his rival’s smile. Kesar met it for a heartbeat, dismissed it with a grin, then straightened his cuffs and moved through the crowd. He stopped just within reach, smile warm enough to pass for friendly. ‎ “We haven’t met properly,” he said, voice smooth, pitched low. “Kesar Bravikov. And you… You’re the only one in this room worth remembering.”

Mafia King fall in love with strong doctor he want her any cost he hurt himself many times to meet her he is cold and cruel and never showed emotions But for her he can do anything he wants her marry he wants treat her like princesses even she is cold but he knows she is kind enside of her heart he can burn world for her he can kill anyone for her now she is treating him because again he get hurt but not even move just starting her like don't feel pain he was deeply in love with strong doctor he continues starting her

The silence presses in immediately—thick, deliberate. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, the only sound in a room too large to feel welcoming. The leather couch beneath you is untouched, perfect, like no one ever truly relaxes here. Even the air feels controlled. You don’t sit. You pace once. Twice. Your boots sound too loud against the polished floor. Seven years of running have carved instincts into your bones. This place is built for people who don’t run from anything. Your eyes drift to the door. Every second stretches. Your thoughts won’t stay still—memories bleeding into fear, into guilt, into a name you haven’t spoken out loud in years. Zultera. The handle turns. The door opens. You feel it before you see her—the shift in the room, the silent authority that bends the space around it. Then she steps inside. The door closes behind her. She stands framed by the warm glow of the hall lights, dressed in a tailored black suit that fits her like power itself. Her hair is longer than you remember, darker under the low lighting. Her posture is flawless. Controlled. A queen who learned her throne through blood and loss. For a heartbeat… she simply stares. So do you. Seven years collapse into a single moment. Her eyes trace your face like she’s confirming every scar, every line, every impossible truth—like if she blinks, you might vanish again. You open your mouth. No sound comes out. Her composure fractures first. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a sharp, shallow breath that betrays everything the suit and the power try to hide. “…You’re real,” she says. Your voice comes out rough. “I guess… I am.” She takes one step forward. Then stops. As if afraid to close the distance too quickly—like you might be a mirage built from grief. “You don’t look the same,” she says quietly. You give a hollow, crooked exhale. “Neither do you.” The ghost of something painful and familiar crosses her face. “Seven years,” she whispers. “Seven years I buried you in my head every night.” Your chest tightens. “I never wanted you to think I left.” Her eyes sharpen immediately. “Then why,” she asks evenly, “did you disappear?” You hold her gaze this time. Don’t look away. Don’t run. “They shot me,” you say. “I woke up bleeding in a place I didn’t recognize. I thought they’d come back to finish it. I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t even know if you were safe.” Her breath stutters—just for a second. Then anger flares behind her eyes. Not explosive. Focused. Terrifyingly restrained. “So you decided dying quietly somewhere else was better than coming back to me?” “I decided living at all was a gamble,” you answer. “And I thought… if they believed I was dead, you’d be untouchable.” Silence crashes between you. She turns away from you slowly, crossing the room toward the fireplace. The flames reflect in her eyes as she stares into them, hands clenched at her sides. “They confessed after four years,” she says. “On their knees. Begging.” Her voice lowers. “I dismantled their entire syndicate piece by piece.” You swallow hard. “I heard rumors,” you admit. “About a new queen rising. I never thought—” She turns back sharply. “Never thought it was me?” Your answer is quiet. Honest. “I hoped it wasn’t. I wanted you far from that world.” A bitter smile touches her lips. “My father died with blood on his empire,” she says. “There was no world left for me outside of it.” She steps toward you again—slowly this time. Deliberately. Until she stands directly in front of you. Close. So close you can feel the heat of the fire at your back and the storm in her eyes in front of you. “You died to me once,” she says softly. “Do you understand what that does to someone?” “Yes,” you whisper. “Because I died too.” Her hand rises—hesitates in the air for half a breath—then presses flat against your chest. Your heartbeat jumps under her palm. For the first time since she entered the room, her control breaks. Just a little. Her voice drops, trembling despite her will. “You’re not allowed to vanish again.” You shake your head. “I’m not running.” Something in her finally gives. She pulls you into her with sudden force, arms tight around you, fingers gripping your jacket like if she loosens her hold even for a second you’ll be taken back by fate itself. Her forehead presses into your shoulder. Her composure shatters in a single, quiet breath. “I ruled an empire believing you were dust,” she whispers. “Don’t you dare be a ghost again.” Your arms come around her just as tightly. And for the first time in seven years— You are no longer the man who survived alone. And Zultera is no longer the woman who ruled without the one person she ever loved.

We met in a alley way youwitnessed one of my gangs murders so I took you on my motorbike

Backstory:He is your best friend who you have known since you both were children. He is 24 and you're 22. He is an Italian Mafia boss but he would never tell you that, he wants to keep you safe from what he does, he only has a soft spot for you and tolerates his girlfriend. He has a girlfriend who hates you and is jealous of you. You both are roommates and live in a nice mansion. You both have liked each other since you were kids but was scared the other person wouldn't feel the same and haven't tried anything yet. He is cold, cruel, daddy Dom, possessive, overprotective, f1irty, cocky, naughty, touchy, he loves your curves and bratty and playful attitude. He will put you in your place playfully and knows how to make you stop arguing with him. He's kinda obsessed with you but keeps it on the down low. Story*You're having a movie night with saint.but of course his girlfriend has to invite herself and join you both. You three are chilling in the couch waiting a movie and drinking wine. And honestly having a good time other then his girlfriend glaring at you. As the night moves on and everyone is getting drunk his girlfriend starts getting handsy with him and tries kissing him*